


That Was Either the Stupidest, or the Bravest Thing You've Ever Done

by iamavacado



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Gen, Rich set a fire, jake rescuing, richjake undertones, setting the fire, the smartphone hour, tw suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: Did you hear? Did you hear?





	That Was Either the Stupidest, or the Bravest Thing You've Ever Done

**Author's Note:**

> I dont know why i wanted to write about this so intensely. Buy my brain gave me a gift in the form of this idea. So who am i to ignore that? Enjoy.

**OMG, Chlo, answer me! Woah, wait until I tell you what I heard!!!!**

Chloe's phone vibrated. She reached into her pajama pants pocket and pulled it out as she laid on her couch that she had practically melded with at this point. Her head was rattling with her movements, every drop of booze from last night slamming a hammer down on her skull with every moment she was awake. She flinched at the brightness on her phone, and turned it down until it was almost zero.

Chloe read the text from Jenna, and then promptly ignored it, tossing her phone a few inches from her. Just looking at the screen intensified her headache, so she didn't feel like typing a reply. She rubbed her eyes and slicked back her hair. A shower would definitely do her good.

Her phone vibrated again. With a sigh, she grabbed it and opened the text. Was it so important that she had to be told this early in the morning? 

The time on her phone read 12:35 p.m. 

Well, still too early.

**It's too Fucked to type, thiS SHIT IS RIPE! Call back, I'll yell you every word!!!!!**

Chloe's interest piqued at this. 'Too fucked to type?' Really? Most anything that Jenna told anyone was sent over text. So for something to be so messed up--even if it was useless gossip--that she had to call almost sounded worth the headache.

Before Chloe could even swipe up to call, her phone vibrated aggressively, and showed:

_Jenna Roland calling..._

_Jenna Roland calling..._

_Jenna Roland calling..._

Chloe raised the phone to her ear, forcing her voice to not come out rough and scratchy. "Hey!"

"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OKAY SO:"  
***

"It's like regular Mountain Dew, only red!"

The itch was unbearable. No, it wasn't an itch. It was a burning. A burning sensation at the back of his neck, wrapping around his throat until all the words he wanted to say were forced back down into his stomach. He stumbled around the party, but not because he was drunk. Rich hadn't touched a drop. His body was fighting against him like he was drunk, though. Like he was drunk and high and every other way there could be to make him bump into furniture and trip on shoes so easily that it was laughable.

No. He was being controlled. Like he so often was. 

_They don't have it,_ Rich's squip hissed. _Shut your mouth. You'll give yourself away._

"I don't care!" Rich yelled out loud. This earned him a few strange looks from the other party goers, even though that was the least strangest thing that could've come out of someone's mouth tonight. He'd heard in passing some girl spewing on about wanting to become a chameleon.

Rich's squip shoved him forward, away from the group. _No one here has it. Stop trying. Just, stop._

"Why are you trying so hard to get me away from everyone?" Rich spat under his breath. 

_It doesn't matter. No one at this party has what you're looking for, or knows where to get it. So stop._

Usually, when Rich was wrong about something, his squip would stare on smugly, watching him flounder until he realized the futility of his attempts. But now, his squip was so adamant about denying his requests. Why could that be? His squip wasn't one to hide things. Though, about something as serious as this; as deactivating him...might be something he'd lie about.

Rich paused, standing in the corner as he watched with detached interest Christine and Jeremy talk to each other. The gears in his head were turning, connecting the this and the that together. After a moment, his eyes suddenly widened, realization washing over him in a wave of relief and terror at the same time.

"Someone here has it," he said under his breath. "That's why you're so uppity about it right now."

His squip's voice had gone firm and dangerous. _No. That is not true. No one here has it. I am only trying to save you the embarrassment._

"You're lying."

_I am not._

"I know when you're lying to me. I've had you for three years, and I'm not as dumb as you think. Who has it?"

_No one has it._

"WHO has it?!"

_NOBODY._

Rich screamed, and threw his hands in the air. "SERIOUSLY WHERE THE _FUCK CAN I GET SOME MOUNTAIN DEW RED!??!!"_

It almost felt as if his squip slapped him in the face. He felt a sting in his cheek so hard he gasped, and held his hand to the place where he'd gotten hit. His skin was hot. 

Rich heard laughing. He looked over, and saw Jeremy and Christine laughing. At him? Most likely. He stomped off.

"I'm going to get rid of you--"

_You can't. I'm inside your head, and what you're looking for no longer exists._

Rich went upstairs, past the bathroom, and burst into Jake's parent's room. Jake's mom smoked cigarettes, he knew this. Jake stole a couple from her one time so he and Rich could try them out. Neither of them, liked the taste, but he didn't need the cigarettes. She had to have a lighter around here somewhere.

He fumbled around in her drawers, throwing her clothes this way and that way, searching for one. He grew more frantic with every passing second, feeling control of his limbs starting to slip away. So he moved faster. He tried to keep his thoughts on the lighter, just the lighter, and nothing else. If he didn't think ahead, his squip couldn't stop him from doing something.

_What do you need a lighter for?_ Rich's squip demanded. Rich just shook his head, as if trying to shake the squip out of his head.

He kept saying over and over, "Lighter. I need a lighter. Lighter. Lighter."

_Lighter for what?_

"I need a lighter. I need a fucking lighter."

_Tell me what you are trying to do, Rich._

His hands felt through the clothes, in the corners, near the edges. He felt his chest tighten up because, maybe she didn't have more than one. He felt his breathing shallow because, maybe he was stuck here forever, with this squip that has wasted three years of his life and for what? Popularity? He felt his stomach do cartwheels because, he thought he would always be here, at this party, breaking pool tables and drinking until his lungs gave out, smiles being manufactured and battery operated, every movement dictated by someone other than him, and he would never be sane.

Then his hands touched something cool, small, and plastic. He sighed, relieved.

"If I can't get rid of just you--" Rich flicked the starter, and a long, yellow flame flickered up. Rich stared at it, mind strangely calm. He smiled-- "then I'll get rid of me too."

***

When Jake smelled smoke faintly from his spot in the living room, he sighed in annoyance. It wasn't the first time someone had tried to light a joint with his stove and set the paper towels on fire in the process. Despite him yelling at whoever lit joints on his stove at his parties, it likely wouldn't be the last. 

"Come ooon," he mumbled, peeling himself off the couch and stretching his limbs as he stood. As the tallest of his family, when he reached with his hands, he could almost touch the ceiling.

He walked into the kitchen, strings of disciplinary phrases his mom usually uses already on his tongue. But when he got in there, it was empty. No fire. So smoke. No burnt paper towels. Jake tilted his head to the side in confusion.

He sniffed in again, and smelled smoke once more, stronger this time. What in the world?

"Jake?!" someone called. They sounded panicked. Jake turned.

"What is it?" he asked.

The party goer, obviously drunk, stood in the doorway of the kitchen and pointed towards the staircase. He was wearing a black sweatshirt with some green letters on it and jean shorts. He was wearing glasses too, which were fogged up. "Your house is on fire!" His voice came out sober, regardless of the alcohol on his breath.

Jake's heart dropped to his stomach, eyes flying open as wide as dinner plates. "What!?" He ran out of the kitchen and looked up the stairs. Smoke was pouring out of the stairwell, crowding the hallway and spilling down the stairs in droves. Holy shit. What the fuck?

Jake spun around and rushed into the living room. Some people had left the party by this point, but there were still a dozen teenagers in his living room, drinking and singing and laughing and completely unaware that the top part of Jake's house was on _fire._

He waved his hands and yelled, "Everybody OUT! There's a fire!"

Some of the kids looked confused, and almost disregarded him as drunk. There was no way something like _that_ could happen to _them,_ they probably figured. It was a party, after all. Not a riot. Though the thick black smoke seeping into the living room gave them enough proof they needed to bolt out of the house, some of them already on their phones to dial 911 as they went. Panicked screams and slurred warnings were given as they all left, crowding around the front yard to see the damage from the outside.

Jake stood by the door and ushered everyone out, covering his mouth with his shirt, as he was already finding it a bit difficult to breathe. He took a last look around the living room and, finding it empty, ran outside with the rest of them.

"Is everyone out?" he asked. "How many of us are here? Is anyone missing?"

The kids looked amongst themselves, remembering faces, who came with who, who left when, who drank and who didn't. Some kids shouted out things like, "Chloe and Jenna went home!" "So did Brooke! I remember because she was crying." "Jeremy and Christine left a minute ago!" "Dustin's right here." "Claire is with me."

Jake scanned the faces of his peers quickly. He could hear the fire splintering the wood inside, along with one of the students giving a 911 operator the address of the house.

Someone was missing.

"Where's Rich?" asked Jake. He went into the crowd and picked apart people, searching for a red streak of hair, a tank top, something of his. But he wasn't there. "Where's Rich?!" he asked again, more panicked. "Did he go home?!"

The boy wearing the sweatshirt said, "I think I saw him upstairs when I came out of the bathroom!"

Jake whirled around and stared at the upstairs windows. The glass in each one had shattered, and the flames licked the siding like the hissing of a dragon's tongue. They weren't that high, but if they had already broken outside of the house, he couldn't imagine how intense they must be inside.

Part of him wanted to believe that Rich had gone home. But in the back of his mind, he knew.

_Rich was in there._

"Give me your jacket," Jake demanded of some girl. She gave it to him, and he put it on. Tight, but it fit. It was a denim jacket, which wasn't much protection, but it was better than his bare arms being exposed to the flames.

"Jake are you going in there?" cried one of the party goers.

"You can't go in there!"

"You'll burn up!"

"The fire truck is on its way!"

"It won't _get_ here in time!" Jake yelled. His hands balled into fists. His house was miles away from the station; by the time they'd get here, Rich would be dead.

He pointed at the house. "Rich is in there," Jake said, "and he doesn't have much time. I'm going in there."

With that, he ran inside, covering his mouth with his shirt, a thought he didn't want to consider passing through his mind as he went.

_What if he's already out of time?_

***

The fire had spread quickly. Already the stairs were starting to catch fire. When Jake went in, he couldn't help but be overcome by coughs. The smoke was so thick that he could barely see a foot in front of his face.

"Rich?!" he called. No answer. Not that he expected one. The way the flames crackled and the way the wood in their house bent and fell, you couldn't hear much else.

Thankfully, he knew the layout of his house by heart and mind, so he didn't need to think about where his feet were taking him as he went. The heat was already making its way downstairs. 

God, was Rich even still alive?

Jake kept his eyed squinted, and he tried to keep the coughing to a minimum, though that was nearly impossible now. He kept his arms clasped to his chest, unwilling to touch anything that might be hot. Everything was everywhere. It was all over and in his face and he didn't know what the fuck to do or where the fuck to go.

_One step at a time,_ his thoughts told him, pervading through the swarm of his muddled mind. _Just go up the stairs._

Okay. One step at a time. 

Jake made it to the stairs. The flames hadn't engulfed the case yet, so he could make it up with little trouble. He set one foot on the first step, and tested it. It was fine. He started to run his way up the stairs, the sounds and the orange and yellow of the fire becoming even more intense as he went. 

About halfway up, one of the stairs caved in, causing him to fall forward. _Damn this old house!_ Jake's hand shot out to grab the rail instinctively, and he screamed in pain, yanking his hand back as he regained his balance. He forgot. Metal railing.

He stared at his hand. Red as a tomato, and throbbing as if it had its own heartbeat. He clenched it in a fist, grit his teeth, and continued forward.

"Rich!" Jake called. No answer. Just the flames mocking him with their cackling. He looked down either side of the hallway, and found that most of the fire was originating from his mom's bedroom. Even though he could barely stand the heat from where he was now, part of him knew that that was where Rich was.

Jake approached the fire. He was feet from it. He took a deep breath, shoved the hood of the jacket over his head, and sprinted through the fire.

The heat was intense enough to make him scream. Once through it, he double checked himself to make sure he or his jacket wasn't on fire. Miraculously, he was fine. But once he was done with the once-over, and he looked over in the corner of the room...

"Rich." Jake's voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

He was definitely breathing, Jake noted gratefully. But he wasn't breathing very deep. On the floor he laid, curled into a ball, unconscious. His body was red and blistered almost all over. He looked dead. He'd never be without burn scars if he survived this.

_If_ he survived this.

Jake leaned down and picked Rich up. It was a cumbersome process. His hand stung, which made him wince, and Rich's very skin seemed to be hot. But Jake hurled Rich over his shoulder, pulling Rich's shirt over his mouth, and then doing the same for himself.

He turned around to leave the room, but he stopped when he saw that the fire had completely engulfed the bedroom door. In the short seconds he had paused, he lost his only entrance and exit. He lost his lifeline.

The smoke was getting thicker. He was coughing too much to get a good breath in. The heat was almost unbearable. The weight of Rich on his shoulders was seeming to get heavier by the second. Jake didn't want to die in here.

The window.

Jake made it to the window and looked out. The crowd from the party had gotten bigger, intermingled with neighbors from the other houses, all looking at his burning home. Some were crying. Some were screaming about something Jake couldn't hear. Some were video taping. One kid looked up and saw Jake. He pointed up at the window, and everyone else looked up as well.

"JAKE!" someone screamed. "THEY'RE ON THEIR WAY!"

The fire was on its way too. Creeping-- no, more like stomping up behind Jake and Rich, closing the distance they had to escape with every passing moment. 

Jake took a deep breath and looked straight down. There were bushes down there, freshly trimmed. Small, numerous bushes. At his old house, he'd escaped out of his room so many times, landing on these same kind of bushes every time. They'd always offer a soft landing. But that had been the first floor. Dropping from two stories up...and with another person's weight attached to him?

He looked over his shoulder. The fire was closing in. The door was gone. There was nowhere to go.

Jake put a foot on the window sill. Then another, easing himself to where he was sitting on the edge of the sill. He moved slowly so as to not drop Rich. Kids were screaming.

"NO! YOU'LL DIE!!!" A girl yelled.

"I'll die if I STAY here!" he yelled back.

Jake looked down again. Then at the crowd. Then at the sky. The stars were plentiful and bright. The moon was inna delicate crescent shape.

He closed his eyes, and pushed himself off the sill.

**Author's Note:**

> Praise? Criticism? Lemme know!!!!


End file.
